I’ve been tuckered out for about two weeks now with the flu, or something mightly like the flu, and you don’t want to hear me whine about my symptoms, but I haven’t much been on the job just lately
(I know I’m profane, but jeeezzzz, readers, did you really think it was just a typo? Get. Your. Minds. Out. Of. The. Gutter.)
So, I figured as long as I was s-tuck all by myself at home, I’d try to make things as comfortable as I could.
Stoked up the fireplace, although I’m still too cheap to burn the real wood I bought a month ago and waste it on just little ole me. The gas burner under the fake logs was plenty pretty enough … {for the likes of me, he said in his best self deprecating tones, shuffling his feet like he might burst into an “aww shucks” and sticking a strand of straw into his teeth.
(That was pretty convincing, right?)
shut up } .
I hauled out a couple three books I’ve been meaning to read and just never got around to and launched into a Michael Chrichton, “State of Fear”.
Tucked myself right in with that green plaid wool throw that Debster always gets in the TV room on Wednesday Paseo dinner and movie night. Sat under good light on the couch and listened to jazz instrumentals all the way through the book. Nice. Good times.
Unfortunately, the book is a failure on almost every level. It’s about climate change and how the science isn’t there to show a link between “greenhouse gases”, principally CO2, and a distinct global warming phenomenon. It paints ecologists as terrorists, greedy, money hungry, manipulative of media and politicians. Doesn’t play. The characters and action are clearly afterthoughts and just plain not thrilling, as thrillers are expected to be. The science was also pretty boring. In Crichton’s view, the climatology science of ecological crisis simply isn’t up to snuff, not academically rigorous enough for proofs of the theory. He goes so far as to compare “global warming” to eugenics, the pseudoscience of the early 20th Century that morphed into Hitler’s “Final Solution”.
I ate some comfort food tucker over the weekend as well. Hot soups and such. Lots of hot herbal teas with local honey. Uhnhhhh, do I have to mention chocolate? Yes? OK. Yeah, some chocolate, too. Bad kitty.
The biggest tuck of all, though, was in the bedroom.
(“Ah Ha!”, you are thinking to yourselves. You knew it would come to this. WRONG! Get. Your. Minds. Out. Of. The. Gutter.)
I exchanged my white high thread count summer sheets this weekend for the honest to goodness cold weather is here flannel sheets. Rich burgandy for the Christmas season.
These are sheets with substance and not the gossamer of the past several months. If you don’t have flannel sheets, baby, try some. It’s cozy when you come to bed and not cool or cold. I like the way these sheets feel over you, like an extra half blanket, with some heft. Yeah. Tucked ‘em in all tight all around. Bounce a damn quarter off ‘em, you could. Yeah.
So, this was the weekend I got tucked.